


i have come to save the day

by maybankiara (juggyjones)



Series: jiara july 2020 [4]
Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: 5 + 1, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Postman!JJ, Receptionist!Kiara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25686268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juggyjones/pseuds/maybankiara
Summary: ‘Anyway, we're friends now.'‘Do I want to be friends with you?’‘I don’t think you have a choice.’She thinks he’d be surprised if he knew just how little choice she has when it comes to him.— in which jj is a postman and kiara is his favourite receptionist (alternatively, 4 times kiara didn't know jj's name and the one time she did).[jiara week 2020: day 3 + 5; au + 5+1]
Relationships: JJ Maybank/Kiara Carrera
Series: jiara july 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849519
Comments: 12
Kudos: 70
Collections: Jiara July Jubilee





	i have come to save the day

**Author's Note:**

> super duper late entry for jiara week, but who am i other than someone who's constantly late. (just ask my friends, seriously.) i'm not sure if this is my last entry - i've got a _firsts_ fic half-written, but i'll see it it'll get posted or not. i wrote this (au + 5+1 combo) today because inspiration struck. (aka: i was at work and there was a cute postman.)
> 
> also - it's actually 4 + 1. i'm sorry. the 5 must've been stuck in another dimension.
> 
> hope you'll enjoy this lil au!
> 
> title from _are you gonna go my way_ by lenny kravitz. definitely something that postman!jj listens to in order to hype himself up before approaching entering carrera law firm.

1: j.

‘Carrera Law Firm, how may I help you?’

The guy standing in front of Kiara in a postman’s uniform gives her a glance that’s part-question part-disbelief, and then points at the device in his hand. ‘Delivery for Anna Carrera.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

Blood rushes to Kiara’s cheeks as she clicks the button on the desk telephone, reaching her mother within seconds. 

‘Just sign it in,’ says her mother. 

‘Okay.’

She hangs up and looks at the guy, extending a hand. ‘I’ll sign it.’

He gives her a slight eyebrow raise and she may or may not see a hint of wickedness in the tight corner of his smile as she takes the device from him. She’s quick to sign it, with a shaky hand, and give it back to him. 

‘You’re new here.’

Kiara nods, says: ‘Yeah, it's my first day’, even though it was a statement, not a question. 

He stares at her for a hot second with the same expression, and Kiara expects him to ask something else, make it a conversation—it seemed like a conversation starter—but he doesn’t even acknowledge her answer. 

‘Where do I put this?’

There’s a slight thud and she leans across her desk, seeing a medium-sized box with his black combat boot right next to it. 

Her lips purse as she realises what he’d done, and decides she dislikes him. 

All she wants to do is tell him off, _that could be fragile_ , but she’s new and he seems cocky and reeks of trouble enough to make her bite her tongue. 

So all she actually does is lean back into her chair and nod towards the wall to her side. ‘Just leave it there.’

He does so without a question, and on the way out, gives her a two-finger salute. 

Kiara checks the paper slip he left on her desk, finding his name with ease: J. Maybank. She thinks of his short but shaggy blonde hair, rugged and self-satisfied appearance that oozed confidence, and _yeah, he looked like a boy whose name begins with J._

It’s not the most awkward conversation/situation she has that day, but it’s the most memorable one, mostly because she can't get his smirk out of her head for more reasons than just one (and far too many of them she’d never admit). 

She decides she hates him, anyway.

2: john

The next time he comes, it’s Friday and Kiara’s got the hang of it, so she wags a finger at him to tell him to wait as she picks up the ringing phone. 

‘Carrera Law Firm.’ 

She talks with the customer—a lovely lady, has the misfortune of living next to a new construction site—for a little bit, laughter falling from her lips. It’s Friday already and she’s gotten better at this, more confident, and making J. Maybank wait on her is worth it. 

(It’s not a personal vendetta, _per se_ – more of karma, really.)

She watches him shift weight from one leg to another, hands resting in his pocket. He’s got a slouch to him, the ease in his shoulders making him seem as if anything he wishes for, the world gives him. Kiara’s friend Sarah calls boys who stood like that _suave_ , but Kiara calls it _arrogance_. 

The same half-smile with the same dose of wickedness in its curve is mocking her when she bids farewell to the lady on the phone. Her back is resting against the chair and a pen slides across the paper, before she actually looks at him. 

‘Delivery?’

J. Maybank reaches into the side of his backpack and takes out a handful of letters, placing them on the desk. 

Kiara frowns, because he’s still standing there. ‘Do I need to sign those?’

‘Nope.’

He doesn’t budge and neither does his smile. 

She collects the mail and goes through it, separating them in piles for each of her mother's employees. It takes her a couple of seconds, but J. Maybank’s gaze on her burns on her cheeks and makes it last a whole eternity. 

Her glance at him comes in pair with a single raised eyebrow. ‘Can I help you?’

J. Maybank puts his fingers on the desk, tapping one of them. ‘I can leave a message with you, right?’

‘Yeah, sure.’

‘Okay’'

He nods. Kiara notes his fingers are shaky as he reaches into his pocket, taking out a pen and a piece of paper, even though there’s a bunch of both already on her desk for this exact purpose. 

He scribbles down a note and folds the paper in half, hiding the text. He slides the note towards her, fingers still shaky. It’s a far cry from the overconfident, cocky person he was a mere minute ago. 

‘I looked up on the internet and it said that you offer free consultations, right?’

Kiara nods. ‘Mostly, yeah. Depends on what you need.’

‘Family law,’ he elaborates. 

‘Then a consultation is free. It’s Mrs Viola Glisson’s department.’ Kiara puts her finger on the note and she wants to open it, to see what he’d written. Instead, she swallows dryly. ‘Do you want me to give this to her?’

He nods. ‘That’d be great.’

No _thanks_ comes her way, only a smile that is innocent for less than it takes her to blink. He gives her the same two-finger salute and is back to the cocky J. Maybank in moments, and Kiara hates to admit that she can’t take her eyes off of him as he walks through the glass door. His uniform doesn’t fit the aesthetic of the building, nor Kiara’s smart black trousers and a red t-shirt with a propper-up collar and a zipper on the cleavage, but he doesn’t look out of place. 

As soon as he’s out of sight, Kiara’s fingers take the paper note, ready to give it to Viola, a woman who grew up with her mother and Kiara dated her son James back in middle school. She’s planning to give it to Viola immediately, no wicked intentions, but J. Maybank’s face pops up in her mind, complete with the self-confident smirk. She gives in with a sigh, thinking that he deserves her snooping for the way he’s been acting. 

To her disappointment, the writing is just a phone number with _John Maybank_ written underneath it. 

She hands it to Viola with a sigh, offering no information to go with it. Viola reads the note and a knowing look spreads over her features. ‘Maybank, the postman, right?’

Kiara nods. 

‘He’s about your and James’ age, no?’

‘I guess.’ Her face flashes before her eyes and she places him in her school corridors with ease. She knows he doesn’t go to the Cooke Academy because a face with demeanour like his would stand out. 

‘He’s a good kid, Maybank. Mowed our lawn a fair amount,’ Viola muses to herself. Her fingers flip through a stack of papers and she writes something down, looking up at Kiara. ‘Did he say what he needed?’

‘Just a consultation with Familial.’

‘Hm? That’s interesting, might be about his father... Can you bring me a cup of coffee on your way out? You make the best coffee I’ve had in _years_!’

Kiara knows when she’s being dismissed, so she does as Viola asked of her. Her mind buzzes with the newfound information about J.— _John_ —Maybank. 

He’s a mystery, and stays in her mind longer than she’d like, _again_. 

3: john j.

‘Mrs Grubbs, I can’t give away our employee’s private information.’

‘It’s just a phone number,’ repeats Mrs Lana Grubbs in exasperation. ‘It’s not _private_.’

‘A personal phone number is private information. I don’t have the right—’

‘Fine, I’ll just do it myself.’

The short woman with greying brown hair pulled into an elaborate bun walks past Kiara's desk with complete disregard of any manners whatsoever, and is already halfway through the main hallway when Kiara comes up in front of her. 

The young Carrera puts her hands between her and the woman, lips pressed tight. ‘Mrs Grubbs, you can’t walk in here unannounced.’

‘Announce me, then.’

‘You need to have an appointment,’ elaborates Kiara. She feels herself close to seething; there are firm rules set in stone when it comes to culture, and the woman before her seems to have completely missed them. ‘I can arrange you an appointment.’

Mrs Grubbs scoffs. Her perfectly defined eyebrows shoot up, and her lips purse as she raises her chin. ‘I need an appointment _now_ , young lady.’

‘My mother is in the middle of a meeting, and is busy until the end of her shift.’

‘She is not _that_ busy. Push me in after this meeting.’

Kiara sighs. Even if she pushed her in, she knew her mother wouldn’t give her time of the day with that attitude. ‘With all due respect—’

_‘Ms Lana!’_

The two women avert their attention to Kiara’s reception desk, where a fair-haired boy in a postman’s uniform is standing with a small box in his hands and a grin on his face. He waves at them, but he’s looking at Mrs Grubbs. 

‘Hey, Ms Lana. How you been?’

Mrs Grubbs’ demeanour changes in an instant – Kiara watches her go from a ruthless witch to a friendly lady from the neighbourhood. She approaches John Maybank and squeezes his cheeks with, asking about school, his friends, and whatnot. 

Kiara takes the opportunity to go back behind her desk, eyeing the exchange suspiciously. Before she knows it, John is hugging Mrs Grubbs and she turns to the girl with a disappointed smile on her face. 

‘I will arrange an appointment elsewhere,’ she states, as if Kiara is supposed to give a damn. ‘Your services are subpar.’

_at least we don’t need to deal with entitled, mannerless assholes like you_ , crosses Kiara’s mind, but the only thing noticeable is the smile on her face. ‘In that case, I hope you find services that match your demands.’

What she gets in return is a distasteful eye roll paired with an over-dramatic huff. Mrs Grubbs turns on her heel and walks out of the door without so much as a goodbye. 

At last, Kiara takes a deep breath and shifts her gaze to the postman in front of her desk. 

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he tells her with the smirk she’s gotten used to in the past two weeks. ‘Ms Lana is a bitch to everyone.’

‘Not you,’ sighs Kiara. 

‘No, that’s because everyone likes me.’

She raises her eyebrows at him—she seems to be doing that a lot when he’s around—and just opens her hand. ‘What you got?’

‘Delivery for Mrs Viola Glisson.’ He hands her a paper slip and the device to sign, which she does. ‘So you don’t agree that everyone likes me?’

‘I don’t.’

‘Ouch.’ John places a hand over where his heart is supposed to be (a little too far to the left) and grimaces. ‘That hurts my feelings.’

Kiara gives the device back to him, walking around the desk to pick up the box and put it on it. She knows he’s staring at her cleavage (not very exposed, but noticeable when she bends over) and wonders if he left it there on purpose. 

When she sits back in her chair, he’s still there, fingers tapping against her desk.

‘Look, thanks for your help with Mrs Grubbs,’ she says, because a) she’s not a fool and she can tell what he did, and b) she can swallow her pride for one second. 

‘Does that make me your prince?’

‘You didn’t come on the white horse or in your shining armour.’

‘My uniform’s kinda shiny,’ he says, tugging at the short sleeves that have the reflective tape on it that is a must-have for Kildare. ‘And my bike is white.’

Kiara laughs. ‘Your bicycle?’

‘My _motor_ bike.’

He says it slowly, with the “e” stretching into a knowing smile, and Kiara hates that he knows exactly what he’s doing, and hates even more that it’s working. 

Thing is – by now, Kiara is half-certain that the majority of the reason why his presence irks her is because she’s attracted to it, and Kiara Carrera hates being attracted to people who are cocky and self-serving. He looks like he could be a good night’s fun, with his cheeky grin and eyes that remind her of waves she sometimes surfs on, and he reeks of trouble, still. This used to be her type – tall, blonde, with a streak for illegal activities, but Kiara said to herself that she isn’t fifteen anymore. She hasn’t been fifteen in two years, come two weeks. She’s past that childish behaviour. 

‘I don’t need a knight in shining armour, pal,’ she states, shutting down her thoughts before they progressed even further. I need a _postman_.’

‘We could be friends,’ he says. ‘Why not, huh?’

‘Do you always chat with receptionists for longer than it’s appropriate?’

‘Only cute ones.’

Kiara can’t contain her laugh this time, and it echoes in the room full of marble. John is smiling at her, and she thinks that the wickedness in the crook of his smile is just playfulness, instead. Teasing, too, and maybe just the slight hint of a daredevil. 

She leans her elbows on the desk, intertwines her fingers, and rests her chin on her hands. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

He cocks his head to the side as if he knows she’s lying and, based on the way he seems (perceptive, in any case – he’s very good at finding out what makes her tick), he knows that she is. 

The blond extends her a hand and she takes it. ‘John J. Maybank.’

‘Kiara Carrera.’ His grip is firm but so is hers, and they have a little staredown. ‘Adding in a “J.” to make yourself seem fancy?’

(She pretends her hand isn’t cold once his is away; she pretends she doesn’t feel the blood coursing through her veins, or the knots in her stomach when his eyes fall to her lips.)

John J. Maybank laughs with his whole chest, arms crossed on it. ‘Fancy is the last word anyone would use to describe me.’

Her eyes travel up and down his body, and she tries not to linger on his biceps, accentuated by his pose, or the way his uniform sits _just right_ on his body. 

Instead, she grins. ‘I can tell.’

He taps his fingers against her desk, and her eyes catch a pair of rings she didn’t notice before. ‘Anyway, we're friends now.'

‘Do I _want_ to be friends with you?’

John J. Maybank is already halfway out of the building when he turns to her, walking backwards, and shrugs with his arms outstretched. ‘I don’t think you have a choice.’

He’s right – she doesn’t. 

She thinks he’d be surprised if he knew just how little choice she has when it comes to him.

4: johnny jay

John J. Maybank catches her as she’s walking out of the small—hers only—bathroom next to her desk. 

‘Hey, friend.’

Kiara still rolls her eyes at the greeting. There’s something off about him, only she doesn’t notice what it is until she's sat down at her desk – he’s wearing a basketball top and short cargo pants, paired with the usual combat boots. 

Kiara certainly didn’t expect to find out that the uniform actually hides quite a good bit of his body that is, objectively (and not in the way of Kiara _objecting_ ), quite pleasant to look at.

He catches her looking. ‘I’m here for an appointment with Mrs Glisson.’

‘Now?’

John J. Maybank glances at the clock to his right, above the bathroom door. ‘In ten minutes.’

‘Give me a second.’

Her mind buzzes as fast as her fingers flip through the book of visitors. She recalls him asking for a consultation with Viola about two weeks ago, distinctly remembering Viola saying something about his father possibly being the reason. Her fingers land on the last time someone came for Viola. 

‘Sorry, she’s still in a meeting.’

‘Thanks. It’s okay, I’m not in a rush,’ he says, taking a seat in the waiting area, a few feet from Kiara’s desk. He throws one hand on the back of the seat next to him, ankle over a knee, and grins. ‘Besides, I don’t mind the company.’

‘I’m busy,’ retorts Kiara. 

‘When’s the last time you had fun?’

‘How long ago did you come here?’

‘Damn, dude. You still don’t like me?’

‘Nope.’

They both know it's a lie. 

In the past two weeks, he’s been here about five times, and every single one of those, he stayed behind to chat a little bit. Kiara didn’t mind – she liked having someone to talk to, especially someone who was her age. 

(Well – not anymore, as of today.)

‘You should come to the Boneyard,’ he says. ‘And before you say you don’t want to—I see you—I’ll just let you know that I _know_ you do, because I’ve seen you there, with Sarah Cameron and the kooks.’

At this, Kiara leans back in her chair, crossing her ankles underneath her desk. ‘Don’t recall the Kooks playing at a Boneyard party. I think they tend to have proper concerts, instead.’

‘So what, you’re gonna say going to Boneyard parties isn’t your bad habit?’

A smile spreads over her lips, heated underneath his gaze. She likes that he caught her reference – she likes that maybe they have the same taste in music. She likes the idea of them dancing to it, at a Boneyard party, red solo cups in hand. 

‘Relax, Johnny Jay.’ He raises an eyebrow at the name, but doesn’t interrupt her. ‘Boneyard parties aren’t really my scene anymore.’

John J. Maybank stares at her with the same knowing look. She catches the glimmer in her eye that tells her she's not fooling him, and she sees the intent in the curve of his Cupid’s bow. 

He flashes a set of white teeth and a pair of dimples. ‘Bring Sarah Cameron and the kooks. It might be a pogue party, but it’ll be a proper party.’

Kiara’s smile is soft, and her cheeks are heating up again underneath the sharpness of his gaze. ‘What will they say when I find out I’m friends with a pogue?’

‘You care about that?’

‘No,’ she admits, ‘but I thought you might.’

‘Nah, dude. My friends already know about us.’

‘There’s no _us_.’

‘There could be.’

He gives her an award winning smile, one that must’ve given him the aura of someone good for a night's worth of fun. (She hates that it’s drawing her in the way he is, making her want to say yes when she told herself she’d be more responsible her last year before leaving for college.)

Kiara just sighs, going back to what she was doing before she took a bathroom break – doodling on a paper they used for testing the new printer (the one only Kiara seems to understand, which makes her useful, and the situation annoying). 

John J. Maybank walks over to her, fingers on the desk. It irks her when he does it, so he does it as often as possible. 

She looks up at him and for once, there is not a hint of anything wicked.

‘Come on, Kiara. Next summer, you’ll be getting ready for college, and you’ll be too busy to enjoy yourself. Then you’re gonna leave for college and you won’t look back, and that’ll be the best years of your life wasted. Besides,’—he taps against her hand and she slaps his—‘ _I_ won’t be there anymore.’

He tries touching her hand again, and she slaps it all the same. ‘Why does that matter?’

‘‘Cause I’m the best thing Kildare has to offer.’

_as if._

Kiara is about to snap back with something—he hasn’t figured out what—when Rafe Cameron walks past the two of them, giving her a court nod. She pushes John J. Maybank’s hand off the wood, pretending her hands don’t burn where skin touches skin. ‘That’s your cue.’

He nods, and she notices the smile fell off his face while she watched her best friend’s brother walk out. His blue eyes are glazed, and his lips are trembling so Kiara pokes his hand with the top end of her pen. 

‘You’ll be fine, Johnny Jay.’

‘Yeah.’ He nods to her, or himself, and taps once against the desk. ‘See you later, I guess.’

Kiara gives him what she hopes to be a reassuring smile. 

John J. Maybank leaves, and she listens to the familiar thuds of his boots until she hears Viola's door open, and he walks in. What they’re doing isn’t her business, regardless of how badly she wants to know. Rafe Cameron’s here because he’s dealing with some bullshit his dad’s putting him through, and the only reason she knows any of that is because Sarah told her. Kiara is practically family to the two, even if she isn’t the biggest fan of the boy. 

Johnny Jay, on the other hand, is someone she struggles to even consider a friend, since they’ve never met outside the confines of these four walls. They read each other well, bounce off of one another like a pair of old friends, and they’ve got a lot more in common than she would’ve ever thought. 

They’re not friends in the traditional way, but they’re friends _enough_. 

The telephone on the desk buzzes with the word _VIOLA_ in place of caller ID. Kiara answers. 

‘Kiara, sweetheart, can you please print for me the documents I sent you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Thank you, darling.’

Printing is actually much simpler than any of them realise. Kiara doesn’t even open the documents before sending them to the printer, clicking a few buttons that are just settings for how the page will come out (and most of them she doesn’t even need to touch). The printer is in the building’s library on the first floor, and the room smells of old books and freshly printed papers. 

There’s a difference between snooping into a note he left for Viola and looking over the documents that she is currently taking out of the printer – she can’t _not_ see what is written on them when she has to check that the printer hasn’t gone out of ink. 

It’s only a glance at each of the pages, but it’s enough for her to see **_EMANCIPATION FORM_** and ** _RESTRAINING ORDER FORM_** written at the headers of each of the two sets to clock onto what’s happening.

The only thought in her head is: _shit_.

She wasn’t meant to see that. 

Kiara’s hands produce a shaky knock against the wooden door, and it’s Viola’s raspy smoker-voice that invites her in. She’s still feeling a little bit sick in the stomach when she enters, papers in hand. 

‘Thank you, Kiara,’ says Viola, a thoughtful expression on her face.

‘No problem.’

Her voice is feeble, filling out every inch of space not occupied by something, or some _one_. She’s halfway out the door before Viola even gets to dismiss her, and she glances at Maybank on the way – he’s pale, face sickened with something she doesn’t recognise, but his eyes are weary in a way no sixteen-year-old’s should be. 

He doesn’t seem angry – it’s Kiara’s last thought before the door shuts, and she can’t see him anymore. 

Time passes as she waits for the meeting to be over. The fair-haired boy is all she can think about; she shouldn’t ask questions but there are many in her head, and her doodles can’t distract her anymore. When customers call, she doesn’t chat to them, and no people walk in to divert her attention. 

He walks out about quarter of an hour later, a bittersweet edge to the eyebrows looming over his eyes, a stack of paper in tow.

‘Hey, friend.’

A finger taps against the desk, next to a doodle that looks an awful lot like him. She moves her arm and rests her elbow on it. 

‘Hey,’ she says back. ‘Did it go well?’

‘ _Well_.’ A sour smile. ‘I’m not sure getting a restraining order against the same old man you’re trying to get emancipated from could ever go _well_.’

‘I’m sorry,’ offers Kiara, and it's genuine. 

To John J. Maybank’s credit, he gives her a court nod and a smile that seems a little less like it’s saying _i am doing something that could go terribly right or terribly wrong._

‘Come to the Boneyard on Saturday. Bring Sarah and everybody. It’ll be fun.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

He must know her well enough to be able to tell this is as close to a _yes_ as anyone will ever get from her, because the smile his cheeks stretch into is the one with dimples, and a fancy for trouble.

She knows him well enough to be able to tell that what she found out stays between them. 

(Kiara wonders when _strangers_ turned into _friends_ turned into _people who understand each other without having to say anything_.)

‘Oh and, uh,’ he calls back from the main door, ‘happy birthday!’

He doesn’t stick around long enough to hear her thanks, but he sticks around many other times.

\+ 1: jj

_Flowers_. 

‘Those better not be for me,’ muses Kiara from her desk. ‘I don’t like orchids.’

JJ walks in with a bouquet of flowers and his postman uniform, all accompanied by a wide, cheerful grin on his face. He’s got a spring to his step and he swings himself around the desk, planting a kiss to Kiara’s cheek. 

Her hands loop around his waist. With the flowers now on her papers, Kiara feels as if she walked into the Camerons’ backyard. 

‘It’s not for you,’ says JJ, wrapping a curl around his finger. ‘For Mrs Glisson.’

‘What’s the occasion?’

Kiara’s—well, whatever they are to one another—hesitates for a second, but she thinks it’s more for dramatic effect than actual hesitation. 

His finger taps her cheek, warm and rough at the tip. ‘I’m moving into the Chateau today. Officially.’

‘Have the forms gone through?’

He nods, and Kiara flings her around his neck, pulling him into a full kiss. It shifts into a hug, and she feels him relax into her. ‘I can breathe now.’

‘I can only imagine.’ She pulls back, smiling as wide as he is. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Shocked. Terrified. Excited. Ambi-feelous.’

‘That’s not a word.’

‘God, you’re starting to sound like Pope. I never should’ve introduced you.’

‘It was inevitable,’ Kiara says. 

They both know it, so JJ just runs a finger alongside her jaw, and his lips briefly touch hers. He’s gone after that and so are the flowers (Kiara is _genuinely_ glad they weren’t for her). Viola isn’t in a meeting right now so it’s fair game, and about two minutes in, she’s pretty sure she can hear the woman crying/yelling (when it comes to Viola, those sounds are way too similar). It’s a big deal for everybody – the whole firm took him under their wing once they found out about the horrors of living under the Maybank roof, enough that they decided to do the case _pro bono_. 

(JJ doesn’t like pity, so he made sure to help out in any way they can, from running errands while doing her postman job or being their personal mechanic during his free time.)

When he comes back, he’s all smiles, lips stretched out wider than Kiara thought it possible. 

‘I’m picking up post today,’ he says, walking over to the box with mail thrown into it. ‘Busy day.’

‘How busy?’ 

‘ _Busy_.’

‘Could you spare ten minutes?’ asks Kiara, stepping away from her desk. He can see her in her full glory now – she’s pretty sure he has a thing for secretaries and their lookalikes, and she’s been putting in extra effort the past few days. ‘I think a pipe went off in my bathroom, or something. Since you said you’d help out with maintenance…’

JJ checks the clock above the bathroom, then shrugs, facing away from the camera to give her a coy grin. ‘I guess ten minutes won’t hurt.’

‘Thank you.’ She starts walking over to the bathroom, JJ at her heel. ‘I’ve been dying to get this fixed for _days_.’

‘Mhm. I can imagine. It must’ve been _awful_.’

‘Truly _terrible_.’

The moment they’re behind the closed door of Kiara’s bathroom, she’s pressed against the cold wall, JJ’s body hot in front of her. His lips are all over her neck and her hands making a mess out of his hair, while his are busy tugging her shirt out of her trousers and sliding underneath the fabric, pulling lines on the bare skin. 

Instinctively, Kiara’s hips buckle against his as she arches her back and tilts her neck, exposing more skin for him to brush his lips over. She feels the bugle, and lets out a hearty laugh. 

JJ stops kissing her, just enough to give her a glare with a frown. ‘I can see how _terrible_ it’s been if you have time to laugh at me.’

‘Shut up,’ Kiara says, tugging at his collar to pull him closer. ‘We’ve got to be quiet.’

His hands travel downwards until they’re in her trousers, cupping her ass, and Kiara buckles against him again. She pulls him closer until they’re chest to chest, and she kisses the spot right below his ear, feeling him moan against her, his hands gripping her tighter. The thrill of being caught is making both their hearts race, and Kiara can think of very few things hotter than this moment.

 _‘Quiet_ is the last thing you’re going to be, Kie,’ he threatens.

She’s up on the sink within a heartbeat, and he tugs her trousers down with more ease than she’d think possible. 

There’s a mirror on both sides of the wall, in front of her and behind her; she sees the grin on her lips, with self-assurance and a hint of wickedness to it, watching JJ press kisses up her tight that leave marks no one but her will be able to see. 

Her hands are tugging on his hair, pulling him closer to her. ‘Ten minutes,’ she reminds him. ‘Make ‘em count.’

All JJ does is bury his head between her legs, and she starts to think that this bathroom had never been meant for anything other than this.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! you can come hang out with me on [tumblr](https://maybankiara.tumblr.com). i post loads of shorter jiara fics on there.


End file.
